


Howlin' at the Moon

by PolarGrizz47



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Attack, Cannibalism??, Kidnapping, M/M, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 00:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4585245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarGrizz47/pseuds/PolarGrizz47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's legacy is changed when he's bitten by a rabid dog down on Pandora.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bite

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited.  
> Crap I'm such a sucker for monster boyfriends lmao  
> Uhm. Werewolves are my favs, more so than anything.

It all started when Jack was bitten. The damn dog was out of its mind, yapping and foaming at the mouth. It looked upon him with glazed over eyes and its thin frame shook so hard that it looked like a skeletal mold decorated with papier-mâché.

He hadn’t even done anything to provoke it, and while he was inspecting a ghost town – which was a result of his mining – the creature had come ripping around the corner straight towards him. The man had let out a shout of surprise, which quickly morphed into a snarl of pain once the large dog latched its filthy mouth onto his thigh.

Twisting and writhing on the dirt, Jack found that the beast had locked its jaws down, and that no amount of beating would make it release his leg. Shaking, bloodied hands reached for his pistol and yanked it out before pointing at the beast’s head.

With a click of the trigger, Jack watched as blood splattered everywhere. Onto his mask, in his mouth, on the ground and all over his clothes.

The dog fell aside with a gurgling whine, and Jack crawled away from it with a groan of pain, his hands scrambling to feel at his leg. The blood was slick and warm, and the pain was intense and fiery. “Damn friggin _animal_!” He cursed venomously, using the nearby wall of a dilapidated building to haul himself upright.

Leaning on his good leg, he sneered down at the corpse and hobbled off to go find first aid.

At first, he’d been fine. The doctor down on Pandora patched him up real nice and good once he’d pressed the weapon to their stomach and threatened to blow them sky high if they didn’t cooperate.

Then, several days later, as he riding across the sandy terrain on a powerful bike, he started feeling incredibly poor. It started with a fever hot enough to rival that of Pandora’s sun, and then vomiting. Jack puked until there was nothing left to give, not even liquid bile. Dry heaving, he’d curled up near his bike and held his mask tightly in one hand while he tried to catch his breath between gags.

The sun bearing down above him made him groan, and the clothes on his back were too much – too thick. He could hardly _breathe_.

Gasping, he peered out into the unforgiving terrain and only saw the mountains in the distance. With nothing else but the sand and the chilly hills nearby, the man had struggled to open the saddle bags slung over the bike, desperate to signal for air.

His body refused to work with him.

Fingers that were usually so deft and threatening were now a shaking, uncontrollable mess. He could hardly pop the top off of the water canteen, let alone try and figure out how to unbuckle the ties on the bags.

Jack drank every last drop of water he had in record time, foolishly depleting his life’s blood in the ruthless heat.

Somewhere between heaving and cursing, Jack fell into a blissful unconsciousness.

It must’ve been days later before anyone found him, sprawled out face down near his bike and sunburnt in some places where his clothes didn’t protect him. The few bandits exchanged weary glances as they approached, armed and dangerous.

When it appeared that the great man was dead, they all laughed and nudged at each other teasingly, and jesting one another about how fearful they’d each been.

It was all fun and games until they started tearing his bike down for parts, the sound of the tortured metal ringing throughout the silent area. From the safety of the sand, one blue eye opened and a low gurgle rattled up a powerful chest.

Jack was hungry.

The thought alone consumed him.

He was _starving_.

The bandits froze in shock when he sat up to his knees, sand falling off his shoulders and clothes. He opened his mouth with a painful croak, lips bloodied and cracked and throat horribly dry. He hardly even noticed the thick, blunt fangs that had formed while he was out and instead he ran his tongue over them, trying to work up enough saliva to swallow down.

Letting out a growl, Jack spat when he found out that his mouth was invaded by grains of sand and that swallowing them only irritated his throat more.

Turning his good eye onto them all, he bared his teeth wordlessly while struggling to get to his feet.

He was _so_ _hungry_.

He felt like he’d faint if he didn’t eat soon.

The bandit closest to him was cowering behind the bike, and the other two were standing stock still by their own land rover, their hands on their weapons and their eyes wide. Letting out a louder, more threatening sound, he braced one hand on the seat of the bike to steady himself.

The man behind it let out a shriek of fear and Jack tracked his movements while he scrambled back, his cries stirring _something_ deep inside his mind. Something primal and instinctual.

 _Prey_ , Jack realized while gnashing his teeth together. _Food_.

He hardly was aware of it when his fingernails thickened into powerful claws and his back hunched over. The transformation was quick and brutal, limbs elongating and muscles refining themselves to fit his new skeletal frame.

With a quick pounce, he was over the bike and upon the man in no time. The bandit screamed and fought while he let out a roar and sliced the man’s throat open. The spray of blood was like liquid gold, and the beast Jack had turned into loved it. He lowered his now powerful jaws and lapped at the trickle with a thick tongue, smearing blood all over his furry front and making the two other bandit’s cry out in shock.

Their screams were too loud, and Jack rumbled with annoyance, the two triangular ears laying down flat against his skull. As he turned towards them, he was met with a loud crack of gunfire, the bullets spraying the ground before him.

Rage mixed with fear and he wasted no time in jumping back, balancing his weight on two powerful hind legs as he stood to his full height. It was a horrifying mixture of man and wolf, and didn’t calm the bandit’s any while they scrambled to get into the vehicle.

With a snarl slipping through his rigid fangs, Jack lunged. One powerfully clawed hand slammed the closest bandit into the ground, the man screaming high in his throat and kicking to free himself. His supposed friend grabbed at his weapons, and turned tail, running away blindly.

The large beast opened his jaws and crunched down onto the man’s neck until he stopped struggling altogether, the crack making Jack pause. He hissed and licked at the sweaty, bloody skin there, ready to take a bite out of him when another loud crack rang. This time the bullet smacked into the metallic edge of the rover, and Jack hopped away in fear of the sound.

Another crack of fire echoed through, followed by a yip of pain as the bullet hit its mark. Jack was snapped out of his bloodied haze with the fresh sting of pain. He’d been grazed by the bullet, the wound bleeding down his arm and pushing him back into awareness.

He tried to jump for cover, but when he realized what he was, a fearful screech tore up his throat. He scrambled in the sand dumbly, tasting blood in his mouth and it made him sick. He stared up at the bandit in fear, unsure what had happened to him.

They shot again, and he watched while the spray of sand landed on his bloodied fur. Jack didn’t need to be told twice. Panicked and alone, he ran away as quick as he could, stumbling on two elongated legs until he fell into four and broke out into a sprint.

The bandit watched while the creature ran towards the mountains, the gun in his hands shaking and heart hammering.

-:-

Very few believed the story of Jack turning into a bloodthirsty monster. Some said it was fitting. All Hyperion knew for sure was that Handsome Jack was missing in action.

Without the tyrannical man calling the shots, the company fell into a lapse of economic struggle until somebody else dared to take the throne. There were whispers about Jack returning, and doing awful things to the new leader, after all – they all knew what had happened to Tassiter.

Henderson merely waved them off as he strolled into his new office, and Hyperion was pushed into a new era.

-:-

Rhys screamed as loud and as long as he could, struggling against the bonds around his legs and wrists as a troupe of bandits dragged him into the mountains. His heart was hammering, his eyes full of tears and his clothes almost ruined.

His mechanical arm had run out of battery hours ago when he was trying to protect himself from their wandering, mean hands. Now, as he was being dragged to what would surely be his messy death, Rhys couldn’t help but to cry.

It wasn’t fair.

He didn’t ask to be sent to Pandora. Hyperion demanded it.

He wanted to be back up in the safety of his apartment with Vaughn. He wanted to tease Yvette about her lunch leeching habits.

Rhys wanted to _live_.

His screams turned into muted sobs, throat raw and body weak. His fruitless struggles had left him weak and hungry, and the bruises scattered around his body ached as they dragged his back through the rocky terrain.

One of the larger bandit’s kept their hands on the ties around his ankles, dragging him along like he was nothing more than a paperweight. Rhys’ throat cracked as he cried, watching while day turned into night and the warmth of the sun left them as they climbed deeper and deeper into the sparsely forested mountains.

He passed out sometime during the trip, and woke up to the sensation of somebody greedily running their fingers through his soft hair. He hiccupped a sob, eyes already wide and fearful as he spotted a knife glinting in the moonlight.

“Don’t worry, baby.” The stranger started, grinning wide and deadly-like. “This’ll hurt you more than it’s going to hurt me.”

Rhys croaked out pleas, knowing that they were beyond reasoning. He sucked in his belly when the knife started to tear at the seam along his blue blouse, breathing ragged and terrified as the cool metal teased his pale skin.

The bandits all around laughed at his panicked sobbing, which only spurred on his hopeless feeling. He wished they’d just get on with it. Get it over with.

He didn’t want to suffer with whatever they had planned.

As the knife crept closer to his belly button, there was suddenly an echoing cry through the trees. The bandits’ laughter fell quiet as it washed over them, the sound a cross between a despairing man’s scream and a hungry dog’s howl.

Rhys tried to catch his breath between a sob, and was smacked across the chops when he cried a little too loud. Biting the inside of his cheek, Rhys tried to keep his crying to a minimum.

The mood had shifted, and Rhys didn’t want to find out why.

Peering at them all through his teary eyes, he watched while they grabbed for their weapons and left him writhing on the ground for the moment. At first, nothing happened. He tugged against the restraints and felt them dig painfully into his fleshy wrist and ankles.

His heartbeat slowed and his mind raced with so many possibilities. He felt his chances of escape growing even slimmer when suddenly there was a bandit’s terrified screech, one which ended abruptly. Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks, fueled on by numbing fear.

The bandits were all running about, gathering whatever they could while more cries echoed throughout the area left and right. A few gunshots rang out into the dark night sky, and Rhys wanted to curl up and hide, but he couldn’t with how his hands were tied painfully behind his back.

Sobs wracked his lithe frame as he heard the few remaining bandits run away, thus leaving him out here, tied up, and all alone.

Rhys almost felt like he would’ve wanted their treacherous company over the dark, looming forest around him.

After rolling onto his side, Rhys only cried harder upon seeing something dark and large pacing just outside his field of vision in the moonlight. Its eyes glinted at him dangerously, and Rhys felt terror seize his heart and _squeeze_.

It suddenly became very hard to breathe through his hiccupping cries, and with one last glance at the beast so close by, Rhys’ eyes rolled back and he knew no more.


	2. The Ticket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited and short.

Standing on his two hind legs, Jack braced one bloodied and clawed hand on a flimsy tree, the wood groaning under his weight as he balanced himself out. He was watching the now unconscious young man with immense interest, his good eye narrowed and glinting in the moonlight.

He felt a little bad killing somebody who was so hopelessly tied up and he heaved out a deep breath, mist rising from his jaws as his warm breath met the cold air. Collapsing back onto all fours, the changed man kept low to the ground, his wide chest brushing the grass as he snuck up slowly.

He could smell that the kid was younger than him, and probably in a lot of pain. Bruises rose to the surface on his pale skin and his wrists were rubbed an angry red color, even the yellow painting on his arm starting to chip with how hard he was struggling. Jack’s tongue lolled out on its own accord, and he spent a few moments sniffing over the man, trying to figure out why he was so _dangerous_ that he needed to be tied up.

The kid didn’t look like that much of a threat to him.

A graying muzzle sniffed through wavy hair, scenting sweat and strawberry shampoo, but no gunfire or other Pandora qualities. Letting out a huff, he sat back on his haunches and gently rolled the kid onto his back before sniffing him all over again. The lingering scents of the bandit’s touches made a rumble echo up his throat, and Jack’s tongue peeked out to lick at Rhys’ cheek despite himself.

It was hard to reason with his animal instincts, and he’d been stuck in this form so long that he often _forgot_ that he was a man beneath it all.

No response came from his rooting around, and the wolf tipped its head to the side, figuring that the kid was truly out of it. A clawed hand touched at a thin jacket curiously, tugging at the edge until he could read the text mushed onto the side there.

Jack’s teeth barred slightly in surprise, and he felt an undeniable flood of relief wash through him.

_This kiddo could be my ticket outta here._

Glancing around the area suspiciously, he put one large hand under the kids back, and crouched over him with a low rumble of annoyance. Huffing, the wolf hauled him up with a groan, slinging Rhys over his shoulder with minimal effort.

The kid let out a whine in the throes of his unconscious slumber, but Jack payed him no heed. The wolf surveyed the dead bandits scattered around the area before standing up on his powerful hind legs. With one hand braced against the lithe man’s thighs, Jack steadied his weight before trekking off into the darkness, carrying Rhys along with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack what are you doing??

**Author's Note:**

> >B)  
> Werewolves man.
> 
> This fic will be updated randomly, whenever I feel like it. I'm going to focus more on 'It'll Cost You' but I will try to update this too! 
> 
> Love to hear what you think!
> 
> ALSO~ I'm on [Tumblr!](http://polargrizz47.tumblr.com/) Come check out my artwork and random blogging.


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